Stuff your eyes with wonder, live as if you’d drop dead in ten seconds. See the world. It’s more fantastic than any dream made or paid for in factories.
– Ray Bradbury
The dazzling sunlight streamed through the large glass windows of the Václav Havel airport in Prague. I was attempting to catch some sleep. It wasn’t just the glaring light that was keeping me awake; I was also grappling with anxiety and fatigue from a restless night and an eight-hour train journey that had taken us from Budapest Keleti to Prague main train station, where we then took a taxi to the airport. To make matters worse, a troubling thought kept lingering in my mind: what might have happened.
Train 376 bound for Prague was scheduled to depart at 20h00. George and I got there early, around 17h00, since we had no other plans in the city. While we waited, we strolled around the station, observing the trains as they came and went, as well as the passengers rushing around—arriving, boarding, and disembarking. We had dinner at a restaurant, browsed the shop windows, and marveled at the stunning mosaics in the station lobby.
An electronic display was showing the train numbers along with the platforms they were departing from or arriving at. Strange names, at least to me, scrolled across the large horizontal screen panels: Sulysap, Gyula, Sopron, Szombathely, Hatvan, Kosice, and Eger; only Berlin and Wien were familiar to me. To ensure clarity, each platform had a sign indicating which train was arriving or departing. There was no indication of our train on any platform, nor did the board show it. It was still too early. At 19h30 there was still no information about our train anywhere. I began to feel anxious. By 19h45 I suggested to George that we should head to the ticket window to inquire.
An electronic display was showing the train numbers along with the platforms they were departing from or arriving at. Strange names, at least to me, scrolled across the large horizontal screen panels: Sulysap, Gyula, Sopron, Szombathely, Hatvan, Kosice, and Eger; only Berlin and Wien were familiar to me. To ensure clarity, each platform had a sign indicating which train was arriving or departing. There was no indication of our train on any platform, nor did the board show it. It was still too early. At 19h30 there was still no information about our train anywhere. I began to feel anxious. By 19h45 I suggested to George that we should head to the ticket window to inquire.
There was a long line of people ahead of us. I grew increasingly anxious and impatient. Time was running short. When we finally reached the front of the line, I asked the attendant at the window if she knew from which platform train 376 to Prague would be departing. I explained that neither the display board nor any signs at the platforms provided that information. She didn’t have an answer; that heightened my anxiety. She quickly went into the office behind her to find out. A moment later, she came back out in a flurry. She informed us that our train was leaving from platform number 5. She also cautioned us that we needed to hurry, as it was about to depart.
We had spent three weeks in Central Europe struggling with two large suitcases. Pulling our heavy luggage, we hurried back to the platforms, looking for number 5, only to find that the sign standing next to it was displaying number 223. Panic set in. I got on the train and asked one of the passengers if that was the train going to Prague. She confirmed it was.
I dashed down the train, searching for George, and breathlessly informed him that this was indeed our train. Then Jorge, looking shocked and pale, exclaimed, “Will, the train is leaving.” When I turned my face to look, I was terrified to see that the train was beginning to pull away. Without a moment’s hesitation, we sprinted after the speeding train, dragging our heavy suitcases until we reached the last car. Luckily, the boarding door of that car was still open. I’m not sure why, but it was a fortunate event that allowed me to get on the train. I managed to lift my bulky travel bag and toss it into the car; then I jumped onto the step, grabbed the handrail, and climbed inside.
As the train gained speed, George was still trailing behind, sprinting after it on the plaftorm while hauling his luggage. Stunned, I was trying to figure out my next move. I knew leaving him behind was not an option. If he didn’t manage to get on the train, I would have to toss my suitcase back onto the platform and leap out myself. Conversely, I was also aware that if we missed this train, we’d also miss our flight back home the next morning, in Prague. And Czech Airlines only had one flight three times a week.
“George, drop the suitcase so you can run faster!” I shouted.
His suitcase contained only his clothes. All of his important belongings—the passport, his camera gear, the credit cards, and the cash—were either in his pockets or in his backpack. The confusion on his face made me realize that George was unsure of what to do. I thought that if he didn't act immediately, then it would be too late. Suddenly, at that very moment, I don’t know from where, a tall, stocky man appeared and snatched George’s suitcase from him. He then dashed to the train until he reached the last wagon, where I was standing, and threw the baggage into it. Now unencumbered by the suitcase, George was then able to run faster, catch up with us, grab the door handle, and leap onto the wagon.
Still startled by the unexpected turn of events, we lingered by the open door, watching the stranger's figure grow smaller and smaller until it vanished into the distance. Afterwards we sat on the floor, staring at each other, completely bewildered.
“What the fuck was that?” I said.
“Holy Cow!” He exclaimed.
“Where did that man come from?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” he replied. “All I know is that I was running, and suddenly someone just materialized out of nowhere and took the suitcase from my hand. I thought he was trying to steal it.”
“Can you believe it?” I remarked. “If we had missed the train, we also would have missed the plane tomorrow in Prague. Holy! This is the stuff you see in movies!”
Once the initial shock and fear wore off, we began to laugh uncontrollably. Our laughter wasn't just a reaction to the close call we had escaped but also a means to relieve the overwhelming tension and anxiety. When we found our seats and exchanged greetings with our fellow passengers, George got comfortable and soon drifted off to a peaceful sleep. How fortunate he was! I, on the other hand, was unable to sleep throughout the night.
We had spent three weeks in Central Europe struggling with two large suitcases. Pulling our heavy luggage, we hurried back to the platforms, looking for number 5, only to find that the sign standing next to it was displaying number 223. Panic set in. I got on the train and asked one of the passengers if that was the train going to Prague. She confirmed it was.
I dashed down the train, searching for George, and breathlessly informed him that this was indeed our train. Then Jorge, looking shocked and pale, exclaimed, “Will, the train is leaving.” When I turned my face to look, I was terrified to see that the train was beginning to pull away. Without a moment’s hesitation, we sprinted after the speeding train, dragging our heavy suitcases until we reached the last car. Luckily, the boarding door of that car was still open. I’m not sure why, but it was a fortunate event that allowed me to get on the train. I managed to lift my bulky travel bag and toss it into the car; then I jumped onto the step, grabbed the handrail, and climbed inside.
As the train gained speed, George was still trailing behind, sprinting after it on the plaftorm while hauling his luggage. Stunned, I was trying to figure out my next move. I knew leaving him behind was not an option. If he didn’t manage to get on the train, I would have to toss my suitcase back onto the platform and leap out myself. Conversely, I was also aware that if we missed this train, we’d also miss our flight back home the next morning, in Prague. And Czech Airlines only had one flight three times a week.
“George, drop the suitcase so you can run faster!” I shouted.
His suitcase contained only his clothes. All of his important belongings—the passport, his camera gear, the credit cards, and the cash—were either in his pockets or in his backpack. The confusion on his face made me realize that George was unsure of what to do. I thought that if he didn't act immediately, then it would be too late. Suddenly, at that very moment, I don’t know from where, a tall, stocky man appeared and snatched George’s suitcase from him. He then dashed to the train until he reached the last wagon, where I was standing, and threw the baggage into it. Now unencumbered by the suitcase, George was then able to run faster, catch up with us, grab the door handle, and leap onto the wagon.
Still startled by the unexpected turn of events, we lingered by the open door, watching the stranger's figure grow smaller and smaller until it vanished into the distance. Afterwards we sat on the floor, staring at each other, completely bewildered.
“What the fuck was that?” I said.
“Holy Cow!” He exclaimed.
“Where did that man come from?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” he replied. “All I know is that I was running, and suddenly someone just materialized out of nowhere and took the suitcase from my hand. I thought he was trying to steal it.”
“Can you believe it?” I remarked. “If we had missed the train, we also would have missed the plane tomorrow in Prague. Holy! This is the stuff you see in movies!”
Once the initial shock and fear wore off, we began to laugh uncontrollably. Our laughter wasn't just a reaction to the close call we had escaped but also a means to relieve the overwhelming tension and anxiety. When we found our seats and exchanged greetings with our fellow passengers, George got comfortable and soon drifted off to a peaceful sleep. How fortunate he was! I, on the other hand, was unable to sleep throughout the night.
Czech Airlines Flight 102 took off at exactly 11:25, heading northwest on a route of almost 7,000 kilometres. After passing over the British Isles and Greenland, the aircraft would alter its course to the southwest and continue its journey over Newfoundland and La Gaspésie before landing at Toronto Pearson International Airport. As I gazed out the window, I saw Lake Ontario and the CN Tower to my left. I knew that I had finally arrived home.
Before we landed, I once more recalled what had taken place in Budapest and what one of the passengers with whom we shared the cabin had said. While George was sleeping, I recounted our experiences to him. He told me that many people have reported similar incidents of being in trouble at the station, where an unknown person appeared in a mysterious way and came to their rescue. It was said that during the 1956 insurrection, a dissident who, chased by an agent of the Államvédelmi Hatóság (the secret police) pointing a gun at him, in an attempt to escape, was running after a train already moving. He jumped onto the train, but, unfortunately, he staggered, fell, and was run over by the heavy vehicle. The sight of his mutilated body scandalized everyone. Since that incident there have been claims that the station is haunted—not by a ghost that terrorizes passengers, but rather by one that offers assistance.
© Translated from the Spanish by William Almonte Jiménez, 2024
© Spanish title: “El Fantasma de Budapest Keleti”
© William Almonte Jiménez, 2020
